In the few days after the crystal uproar, Wuchang's mood improved a great deal. With no more pressure to make money, he didn't go down the shaft at all during those days; instead he chose to stay out at the tailings with Lane, picking through crystals.
Ordinary miners couldn't understand why Wuchang wasn't going down the shaft. In their eyes, a man who had just dug out a nineteen-centimeter crystal was at the very peak of his luck — wasn't passing up a streak like this to try his luck some more just plain stupid?
But they had no idea what was going on in Wuchang's head. To Wuchang, learning as much as he could about this world and picking up a little more knowledge beat going down the mine to earn a few gold coins by a mile.
Amid the dirty old man's endless rambling, the shape of this world began to take form in Wuchang's mind.
Culture, geography, political structure, the makeup of the military — Wuchang even loved hearing about the scandals and gossip of history. Lane clearly enjoyed the feeling of being a teacher. His lessons were hopelessly disorganized, but he had found a tireless, eager student, one who raised his hand at the slightest doubt.
"You said Huang'e is a primal mineral planet, so what kinds of primal minerals are there?"
"There are far too many to count, but you can work out the three most basic ones from what the currency is made of. Rainbow crystal, liquid mithril, and on top of those, folded obsidian — those are the minerals you need to build a folded-space engine. And that engine is the very foundation of humanity's entry into the interstellar age."
"Primal minerals, primal minerals — where does the 'primal' part even come from?"
"'Primal' means primal energy. People have never figured out the mystery of this strange energy, but one thing is certain: this energy is the original energy of the Big Bang. That's where the word comes from."
"Oh! Then tell me more about that engine thing."
"Useless brat, you can't even remember that." The old man reached over and flicked him on the forehead. "It's called a folded-space engine, and people invented it while they were studying primal energy. That engine can do anti-gravity flotation, and it can fold space too. An interstellar voyage of tens of light-years would be unthinkable without space folding..."
"Hey? Your amnesia must be really bad — how do you not know any of this basic stuff?"
"Oh, come on. If I already understood everything, how would I ever show off how learned my master is?"
"Heh, well said. That makes good sense. I have high hopes for you..."
Master and disciple spent three cheerful days out at the tailings, paying no mind at all to the strange looks around them. It wasn't until the evening of the third day that a few visitors arrived and delighted Wuchang.
In a sealed guest room at the Ration Center, Smith Pan was excitedly making introductions. "Wuchang, come over here. This is the best tattoo artist in all of Huang'e City. Your identity has been taken care of — even Huang'e's administrative system now accepts that your tattoo was lost. You're no longer listed as an illegal immigrant."
The tattoo artist, his own body covered in patterns, smiled too. "I've worked in Huang'e City my whole life, and this is the first time I've ever tattooed a real identity. You kid, you really do dare to spend money."
"Now remember this. You're the son of an ordinary farming family from Left Bank Paradise Star. Your parents died of illness, you started drifting around the planet when you were very small, and then slavers kidnapped you and took you to Fallen Nebula, where you became a little drudge in a pirate den. Later, during a clash between pirate ships, you escaped in a lifeboat and made it to Huang'e. Under the force of the impact, you lost your memory..."
The tattoo artist wanted to go on, but Wuchang cut him off. "Hold on. This is the life story you people arranged for me? Why does this feel so much like a fantasy serial? Is anyone going to believe it?"
"Whether people believe it is one thing, but we can guarantee that every one of your identity documents is genuine — that's our skill. As for this outlandish backstory, more than a dozen masters of disguise spent an entire night picking it out for you. You don't get a choice in the matter..." Before the tattoo artist could finish, Lane spoke up from the side.
"Don't be so picky. This is the most believable identity I've ever heard of. In this universe, whether your identity is outlandish or not, suspicious or not, doesn't matter in the slightest. If you're a worthless coward, then even with the most reasonable identity in the world, people will still push you around. But if you're strong, then even if everyone knows you came out of a pirate den, they'll be falling over each other to be your friend."
Having said that, Lane turned to the tattoo artist. "I'm his master. I'd like to do this tattoo of his myself."
"Oh? You know this craft too?"
"I did a stint of it back on Three Seas Star. My hands are itching today."
The tattoo artist shrugged, indifferent. "Fine, whatever. You've already paid, and I can't very well refund you. But let me say this up front: if your tattoo fails and you end up calling me in to do it after all, you'll have to pay the material fee again." With that, he paid no further attention to anyone in the room and went off to drink by himself.
Boss Pan looked at Lane with curiosity and concern. "Can you actually pull this off? I know you're a master of every kind of machinery, but I've never heard that you can run an identity tattoo machine."
Lane didn't answer Boss Pan's question. He opened that bottle of liquid mithril ink worth one hundred gold coins, carefully loaded it into the tattoo gun, looked at the strange tattoo on Wuchang's back, and spoke. "Have you thought it through? What design do you want to cover it with?"
At Lane's question, Wuchang hastily dug a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. On it was a drawing he had spent three whole nights getting right.
"What's this?" Lane and Boss Pan both stared when they unfolded the drawing.
"Don't you recognize it?" Wuchang was a little surprised, but the blank looks on their faces didn't seem like deliberate playacting.
"Forget it. Just tattoo it the way I drew it. That... that's a creature I saw in a dream." A dream was the only explanation Wuchang could offer; he couldn't very well say it was an azure dragon.
That's right — what Wuchang had drawn was an azure dragon, an archaic azure dragon in the unmistakable style of the Qin and Han dynasties. No wonder they didn't recognize it. Whether this world even had an Earth was an open question; it was hardly surprising that people here didn't know a legendary creature like the dragon.
Everyone has secrets, and a mature man doesn't go prying into another's private business, so Lane and Boss Pan didn't press the matter. Lane studied the drawing closely, and in under ten minutes he was already at work.
Dirty old Lane's skill was no idle boast. In this stretch of abandoned mining zone, old Lane's name was no smaller than the contractors' — from engineering machinery down to an electric coffee cup, there was nothing he couldn't fix. Boss Pan had always suspected that if you handed the old man a broken folded-space engine, he might just fix that too.
The tattoo gun, filled with liquid mithril ink, traveled across Wuchang's back. Liquid mithril was an excellent storage medium, and the first half of the life of an orphan named Wuchang was being etched out under old Lane's hand.
The tattoo did hurt a little, but Wuchang could bear it; he was even a bit excited. He had a feeling that as the tattoo gradually took shape, he was gradually blending into this world as well — that one day Wuchang really would forget the memories of his former life and truly take himself for one of this world's own.
Smith Pan watched Lane's practiced skill with amazement and was won over all over again. He couldn't follow the technique in it at all, but that did nothing to diminish his worship of the old man. That was probably what people meant by not understanding a thing and respecting it all the more.
A full twenty minutes passed before the square QR code finally took shape, and even then the old man hadn't come down from the excitement of creation. Suddenly he pulled a leather pouch from inside his coat and tossed it into Boss Pan's hands.
"Take this money to the tattoo artist. I want three more bottles of mithril ink."
"Huh?" Boss Pan was dumbstruck. "Isn't it already finished? Why do you need more ink?"
"Cut the chatter. My disciple still hasn't got the decorative tattoo he wants, and as his master I ought to give him a welcome gift, don't I?"
Boss Pan was floored. He had never heard of decorative tattoos needing mithril ink. Decorative tattoos were purely for looks, after all. The square QR code really was rather plain, and ninety percent of people covered it with some pretty design — it didn't affect the function anyway.
Boss Pan still wanted to talk old Lane out of it, but one look at the old man's resolute eyes and he said nothing more. He knew the dirty old man really had taken Wuchang as his disciple.
In no time at all, three bottles of mithril ink went into the tattoo gun, and the old man's creation began again. This time it was true art. Boss Pan knew quality when he saw it — he had grown up in a down-at-the-heels noble family, steeped in good art since childhood. He didn't recognize the archaic azure dragon, but that didn't stop him from feeling the beauty in it.
Time slipped by, and the tattoo artist who had been drinking wandered back over, perhaps curious why anyone would spend expensive liquid mithril ink on a decorative tattoo. But when he saw the old man's work, his jaw dropped.
"A master! A true master! My grandmaster in the craft was the best tattoo artist on Three Seas Star — he even did the tattoos for the imperial family. Seeing your work today, I'd say you're a match for him!"
"Old man, think it over. Come work for me — it'd be a hundred times better than digging ore."
Old Lane ignored him. His whole heart and soul were on that azure dragon. A full three hours later, when Lane finally dotted in the eyes and laid down the last stroke, the old man's legs gave out and he collapsed straight into Boss Pan's arms.
The finishing touch of dotting the dragon's eyes — the instant the eyes appeared, everyone in the room had the same illusion: that this strange creature was alive, that it was about to come leaping out of Wuchang's body. They could even faintly hear a strange whistling cry.
"I know what this is. The idiom about dotting the dragon's eyes comes from right here — this figure is very likely the dragon of the ancient legends..." Lane, leaning against Boss Pan's chest, wept freely, not knowing what exactly had moved him so.
The tattoo artist didn't understand what "dotting the dragon's eyes" meant. He only felt that this tattoo was ferocious and imposing — the most imposing tattoo he had ever seen. Next to it, all those skulls and fierce tigers the military favored were plain garbage.
Lane's words jogged Boss Pan's memory. He suddenly recalled something he had read in an ancient book as a child: that precious old volume seemed to mention a sacred creature called the dragon. Unfortunately, the book had no illustrations.
By then Wuchang had gotten to his feet. The ink-black azure dragon was startlingly lifelike, and thanks to the peculiar nature of liquid mithril ink, the black dragon actually glimmered with silver light under the lamps.
With every movement Wuchang made, that dragon seemed alive.